Delaney James was wearing Chanel the night her husband told her he didn't love her anymore.
In an instant, her picture-perfect Manhattan life-complete with a brownstone on the Upper East Side, a blossoming career as a fashion journalist, and a devas...
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Greyson refuses to tell me where we're going. When I asked for a hint—so I'd at least know what to wear—he just grinned and said he wanted it to be a surprise. Which left me spiraling all day. Fancy restaurant? Then I need my best dress. Home-cooked dinner? Distressed jeans and a cute top. Takeout on his couch? Break out the sweats.
Either way, my nerves are shot.
"I thought this wasn't a date," Jo says. She promised to help me get ready, but she's sprawled on my bed playing airplane with Hannah instead.
"It's not."
"Then why are you freaking out?"
"Why aw you fweakin' out?" Hannah parrots, giggling as Jo swoops her higher.
I hold a romper against me in the mirror, then toss it onto the growing reject pile. "I'm not freaking out."
"Okay. Whatever you say."
"Kay. Whatevaw you say," Hannah mimics again, and Jo gives me a smug told you so look.
"What's the big deal? It's just Greyson."
"Exactly." I slip into a black floral wrap dress. Comfortable, flattering, perfect—and completely wrong. I strip it off and head back into the closet.
"I think I'm scared to be alone with him. Really alone. He's the one that got away, Jo. If I hadn't gone to NYU, we'd probably be married with kids by now." I pull a pale-yellow skater dress over my head, admire it, discard it. Try a maxi. A skirt with a crop top. Nothing feels right. "I'm just...nervous."
"Then don't call it a date. Call it two old friends catching up. Two old friends who were madly in love, used to sleep together, and planned to get married—but you get my point."
I stick my head out of the closet and glare. "So simple."
"What's the worst that can happen?"
That I remember how incredible it feels to be with him. To be seen. To feel safe. Loved. And that I'll let myself fall again—harder than before.
Time's up. I slip into a light pink backless skater dress, curl my hair into loose waves, and keep my makeup soft and simple. With nude wedges and my best jewelry, I finally feel put together. When I step out and spin for Jo and Hannah, their smiles say it all, and Hannah's little hands clap as she squeals "pwetty." That seals it—this is the one.
"It's perfect for what he has planned," Jo says. "But bring a sweater."
I spin on her, hands on my hips. "You've known this whole time where he's taking me and didn't say a word?"
"It's supposed to be a surprise." She shrugs. "Now—what's your underwear game like?"
"My...what?"
"Underwear. Are we talking beige granny panties, or five-hundred-dollar lingerie under that dress?"
